


China White

by Barb G (troutkitty)



Category: Hard Core Logo (1996)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-10-10
Updated: 2000-10-10
Packaged: 2017-10-24 14:01:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/264255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/troutkitty/pseuds/Barb%20G
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joe kicks the habit, Billy suffers with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	China White

The band sucked. Billy winced as the lead guitarist went on another completely fucked up riff. The crowd had lost interest in them, the bar had emptied to half-full and there were more people around the pool table than in the mosh-pit, and whenever a loser tried to crowd surf he barely made it up before he fell through again. The assholes on stage wore torn and filthy jeans with plaid lumberjack jackets, but nothing could hide their sagging waistline. They had been stars, once, but now they were trying to relive their career in Canada. Joe had arranged for Hard Core Logo to open for them, and Billy thought Joe had finally lost it.

"Let's get out of here!" Billy said. He had to lean across the table and scream it in Joe's ear, and even then he had to tap on Joe's shoulder and repeat himself.

Joe looked at him, but with his heavy shades on, it was impossible to read him. For some reason, that made Billy very uncomfortable. "One more song," Joe said. He didn't have to scream, Billy felt the man's words. Joe's growl cut through any noise.

"They fucking blow, man!"

"You fucking blow. Now sit the fuck down and listen."

"Asshole."

Joe just smiled at him, baring his teeth. Billy forgave him when Joe ordered him another shot and a beer chaser. He downed them both and sat back in the noise. Another crowdsurfer fell, and Billy smiled. Maybe the evening wasn't a total waste.

Joe tapped him on the shoulder and motioned to the door. Billy followed, and once outside the club, Billy had to puke. Joe watched his back as he stumbled in the alley, and he leaned against the rough brick. He finished and wiped his mouth. The alley stunk of older vomit and piss, and he stumbled back out again.

"Fucking Billy Tallent, cool guy," Joe said.

"Shut up," Billy snapped. It felt weird to go back to his place instead of their place, but they finally were making enough dough so that they didn't have to share the same rat-trap. He really missed just crashing down on the same filthy mattress with Joe, but he'd be fucked before he said anything to Joe. Joe grabbed his arm, taking control, and Billy docilely followed him.

"It's not too late to get out of the gig," Billy said.

"Why the fuck would we?" Joe asked.

"The band sucks. We already had this conversation. Why would you want to open for them?" Billy demanded.

Joe reached into his long jacket and tossed a copy of a tape at him. Billy read the spine and tossed it back. "You trying to make me puke again?"

"Fuck that. I want you to learn the first three songs well enough to play them at the U.BC thing."

"I can't play it. It's shit."

"So fuck with it until you can play it. Just keep it recognizable."

Billy stopped. "Joe, what the fuck are you doing?"

"Making us famous, Billy-boy."

Joe had kept the pad and Billy moved three blocks up. His new apartment actually had real rooms, which was still a kick, but he still had his old keys. He unlocked the door, moving to pull the chain on the single naked light, but it had burnt out. He turned on the bedside lamp instead, but the light from the neon bathhouse sign outside the window gave enough light to see. The single room had a small fridge, sink and hotplate, and the mattress was against the other wall. "Fuck this, Joe, you should move in with me," Billy said, kicking off his shoes.

"Forget it," Joe said. He moved up behind Billy, and Billy had to stop himself from turning around. The room wasn't spinning, but it was lurching under his feet and it took him a moment to keep the floor flat like it should be.

Joe bit him, hard, on the neck. Billy pulled away, though, and used Joe's toothbrush. By the time he returned, Joe was already under the single blanket. Billy stripped off and joined him. Joe had taken off his glasses, and his pupils were still dilated. Billy lay down and relaxed as Joe slid up behind him. He sighed as Joe put his hand around his dick. The hand cream was cold, but Billy wasn't complaining.

The cock against him was limp; Joe rarely wanted to get off when he was high, but Joe used that as an excuse to go slow even though he knew Billy liked it hard and rough. When he tried to force Joe to hurry, Joe bit him hard on the neck again. He had no choice but to accept the pace given.

Billy felt his body flush and he started to sweat. The need to come built slowly in the small of his back and Joe allowed him to thrust into his hand as long as he kept it slow. Billy bit his lip to keep from begging, maliciously, because that was what Joe wanted to hear. The closer he got, the more painful it was to stop himself. "God, Joe," he managed, and as a reward, Joe's rough hand moved faster. Billy groaned, and Joe's thigh nudged him between his legs. Billy choked back a cry, but the muffled sound was almost as loud. Joe rubbed against his balls, lightly, and it was too much. He shuddered as he came, and Joe moved his arms around him. It was as tender as Joe got.

With the last of his consciousness, Billy tried to wipe off the mattress, but Joe stopped him. "Don't. It doesn't smell like you anymore," he said quietly. Billy lay back, giving up his control and he let the floor buckle and roll as he slipped under.

He woke up alone in the bed. He stretched out and groaned as his head throbbed. He groped for his watch, turning it so that he could see the face, and groaned again when he saw it was only nine thirty.

He sat up, catching a whiff of himself, and thought wistfully of the shower in his own apartment. He didn't want to use the communal one down the hall with its moldy floor and tepid water, but he didn't want to get back into his already dirty clothes. He stood up and stole a pair of Joe's jeans. They didn't fit him perfectly, but it was close enough. He held up a torn sweater; it was from the clean garbage bag but there was still a hint of Joe on it. Animalistic and salty. Billy sniffed it just as the door opened again.

Joe didn't say anything about the stolen clothes. He passed over a warm bag, and they sat back down on the mattress. He devoured the greasy egg and cheese sandwich, but Joe picked at his. Billy ate his remainder of Joe's breakfast, too. They left the room, sipping the coffee from the styrofoam cups.

Joe led, and Billy didn't question. Joe was tense and tremors passed through him. Billy reached up to touch him, but Joe knocked his hand away. "Fuck off."

Billy shrugged and went back to his coffee. Joe finally stopped, just on the wrong side of Gastown. Only the most pathetic whores were up this early, and Billy suddenly hoped Joe didn't want to party. He wasn't in the mood, and none of the skanks with their filthy hair or their desperate bodies appealed to him. Billy threw out his empty coffee cup and ignored the sluts pushing their sad tits at him.

"What the fuck, Joe?" he finally asked.

"Shut up."

"Fuck you," Billy snapped. He turned to go, but Joe grabbed his arm. "There she is," he said. He dragged Billy forward until Billy could pull his arm back.

The whore wore three-inch heels as she tottered down the steps to the cheap hotel. She looked like she was about to fall off them any second. She had looked exactly like the others, but on second glance her body still had traces of its original curves before the starvation had ruined it. Her hair was lanky and greasy, but it had probably once been long and shiny. Her drawn-out face had the shadow of a girl who had once been vain about shit like that. He wondered how many guys still paid her to come in it.

Her face lit up when she saw Joe, and Billy didn't want to think of Joe heaving his body over her. It had nothing to do with jealousy, Joe could fuck whatever he wanted and it wouldn't change what they had, but the slut was beneath him. When Joe took out his wallet, Billy wanted to take it away, but he'd probably just get punched for trying.

That didn't mean he had to hang around and watch. "Fuck, Joe, I'm outta here," he said before she could charge for doubles.

"Jesus Christ, I'm not going to fucking fuck her," Joe snapped, and the disgust in his voice showed he saw what Billy did. He relaxed even when Joe gave her twenty bucks, enough for two rounds. He took her arm and led her to a twenty-four hour diner just around the corner. Billy followed; the girl's short skirt did nothing but show twig-like her legs were.

Billy had already eaten, Joe was still too fucking high, and the girl was messed-up enough not to eat. They were a riot at the table. To break the awkwardness, Billy lit up a cigarette, but she stared at it so hungrily that he passed it over. Joe stole the next one, so he took the last one out of the pack and crumpled it up.

"I gotta get going," he said, standing up. The U.BC thing was the next night and he had to work on the tape. Joe waved him off. Billy went home and had a shower. He changed into a pair of his jeans, but kept the sweater on.

Joe stopped by that night. They listened to the tape again, and the grass Joe brought only made it funnier. Billy played the opening chords, transcribing them up half an octave to a major scale and sped it up slightly. Joe listened, asked him to repeat it once, and when he began to sing the opening line, it was in the same key and faster. Joe the asshole was such a common thing with him that Billy had forgotten how fucking good the asshole was. "Again," Joe said.

"Shouldn't we tell Pipefitter and John?" Billy asked.

"Pipe will play along and John can't handle it right now. Again."

Billy stared; he hadn't thought Joe had realized how fucked John was getting.

They played it again. By the time Joe left, the first two songs were dead-on, only better.

The crowd ate them up. The mosh pit filled quickly as Joe broke into Rock and Roll, in honour of the Dogs, and then went to Who the Hell. The crowd had been drinking for over two hours before they came on stage, and warmed quickly. By the time they hit block heater, the surfing had started. Joe was in his own, and no one could touch him. Eventually Joe pulled down his shades and smiled at him. Billy nodded, and started the new riff into the song. Joe followed, and although it stopped Pipefitter and John, Pipe thrashed with them a moment later. John slowly caught on, and the crowd was stunned for only a second, and then they realized how big of a "fuck-you" it was.

It took the Dogs almost two songs to realize what the hell was going on. The lead singer burst onto the stage, but the crowd jeered him. Joe grinned at them, but didn't acknowledge the lead singer until he took a swing at him. Billy was off his guitar and ready, but Joe didn't need him. He pummeled the guy. "Fucking has-been!" Joe snapped, but he was still wired and the crowd heard it. Security finally broke them up, but not before Joe spat on him.

Joe pulled away from security and was gone. Billy tried to follow, but by the time he pushed through the crowd, Joe was gone. People didn't make way for him like they did for Joe.

He searched until three, and hoped Joe was holed up somewhere with the skanky whore. His dick might fall off, but it was better than being on the street, high and god-like. Billy finally went home and collapsed onto his bed.

They let him sleep to seven before calling him. Police department. Joe. Fucking up a car on the side of the street. Joe had attacked it with a baseball bat. No one had been hurt, and the car had been old. The cop named a bail that Billy could handle, but if the tour promoter wanted their money back, they were fucked.

They'd been fucked before. Billy took the cash from under his bed and went down to post bail.

Joe was fucked. He had his jacket pulled tight around him and he was still shivering. "What the fuck took you so long?" he demanded.

"Nice to see you to. You coming or do you want to wait a bit longer?" Billy asked.

Joe stood up, moving stiffly, but the obvious pain he was in was nothing to how back it was going to be.

Billy opened the van door for him, and Joe slid carefully into the van. "We're going to my place," Billy said.

"I gotta make a stop, first," Joe said. He was obviously trying to sound casual, but Billy wasn't buying it.

"The fuck you do," Billy said, simply.

"Don't fuck with me on this, William. I gotta make a stop, and there isn't fuck all you can do about it," Joe snapped. When Billy continued to ignore him, Joe went to reach for the door. Billy slammed on the brakes and the door lock at the same time and Joe could only ineffectually grab at the door-handle. "Let me out, Billy, or I'll kill you," Joe growled.

"You've been high now for four days, Joe. You fucked up. That is not casual use anymore."

Joe let go of the handle, and Billy took the time to put the car in park and flick on the hazards. Locked in the fan with an enraged Joe, Billy needed his own set of blinking lights, but he turned to Joe. "I could beat the fucking shit out of you and walk over your body," Joe growled.

"You could," Billy agreed. Joe grabbed him by his jacket, and pulled him up, but Billy responded, grabbing Joe's coat and not letting go, either. Joe felt trapped first. He let Billy go, but Billy continued to hold on.

Joe tried something else. "Please, Billy, just one more stop. One more hit. Just to ease me down. I fucking hurt, all over."

"I know," Billy said, softly. "But no."

Joe slammed himself back in the seat. "Please, Billy," he whispered. "I'll fucking suck you off. One little hit."

Billy flicked off the hazard lights and put the car back into gear. He didn't say that Joe drawn out had as much appeal as the whore had. "It's not going to hurt forever," he said.

"What the fuck do you know?" Joe demanded. Billy didn't answer him.

For the rest of the ride, Joe was quiet. The great Joe Dick, reduced to sweats and trembles. Billy parked the van, but Joe didn't attempt to get out until Billy ran around and opened the door for him. "I fucking hurt," Joe said.

"I know," Billy said. "Come on."

Joe walked like an old man to Billy's apartment. Billy stripped off Joe's boots and put him in his own bed before flushing the last joint down the toilet. He grabbed the bucket and emptied the garbage out of it. He brought it back to the room, but Joe was asleep. It looked uncomfortable and it wouldn't last. Billy sat down on the bed and waited.

Joe woke with a retch, but Billy was there with the bucket. Joe gripped so hard onto it that his fingers drained of blood, and he puked until nothing came out, but that didn't stop him. Billy rubbed Joe's back until Joe's body was too weak to continue. He collapsed back into the bed. Joe's skin was clammy, and Billy left long enough to empty the bucket and bring back a wet cloth. He wiped Joe's face and neck, and Joe kept his head in Billy's lap as his body writhed against the sheets. "Hurts...fucking hurts," Joe sobbed.

Billy let him sob.

He brought Joe in some chicken noodle soup, but Joe only drank the water. He only kept it a moment before he was throwing up again, but Billy just held him. Joe fell into an exhausted rest. He wasn't sleeping--his body was too tight for that--but he was quiet.

Someone banged on the door around four. Billy wiped Joe's face a last time, and stood up to answer it. Pipefitter stood in the hall.

"Where's Joe?" he demanded.

"Fuck if I know," Billy said.

Pipefitter sniffed the air. "You sick or something?" he asked.

"Stomach flu. Joe's probably hooked up with some bitch."

Pipefitter tried to push past him, but Billy wouldn't budge from the door. "Look, I feel like shit, I'm going to hang around here for a couple days."

Pipefitter looked at him, but then shrugged. "If you see him, show him this," he said. He gave Billy the morning edition and left. The Entertainment section headline read, "What Barks like a Dog but Better?" The picture of Joe was very menacing, all darkness and white. Billy locked the door and went back to the bedroom.

"Why didn't you tell him?" Joe asked.

Billy sat down on the bed. "This is you and me. You hungry?"

"Fuck no. You got any smack?"

"Fresh out."

"Fucker," Joe said, and struggled to his feet. Billy jumped up, too.

"Where you going?" he demanded.

"Gonna take a shit, or do you want me to use the bucket, too?"

Billy let him go, but stood at the edge of the hall. Joe was in the can for a long time before the toilet flushed and he stumbled back into the bedroom. Billy brought back another glass of water and a couple Tylenol in case Joe could keep anything down.

It was a long night. Billy would just nod off and Joe would wake him puking or twitching or one time pissing himself because his body hurt too much for him to get out of bed. Billy changed him into one of his T-shirts and pulled the sheets off the bed to change them.

Billy thought for sure Joe's teeth would snap under the strain. He eventually lay down next to Joe and rubbed his back gently. Joe relaxed slowly, and they gradually fell asleep.

The next morning, Joe managed a little bit of broth. Billy let him sweat it out. When he got up to use the can, Joe did it unassisted.

Billy leaned against the wall of the hall until Joe came out again. "Get the fuck out of my way, William," Joe snarled.

"No," Billy said.

"Get out of my way."

"No," Billy stood up. Joe took a swing at him, but Billy ducked out of the way. Joe forced him back, but Billy twisted and pulled Joe down. He sat on Joe's chest, holding him down and letting Joe struggle.

Eventually Joe settled down. "You good?" Billy asked.

"I'm good."

Billy slowly got off him and helped him back to bed. Joe slept, and Billy curled up on the floor of the doorway.

Someone knocked again. Billy got up stiffly, and rubbed the back of his beck. The sun was up again. John was in the hall with a covered dish. "Marion made this for you and Joe," he said.

"Joe's not here," Billy said.

"I know," John said, and left. Billy shook his head and closed to door.

Joe stood behind him. "John?"

"Yeah. Fuck, Joe, don't sneak up on me."

Joe took the casserole, but after he pulled back the tinfoil he made a face and went back to his soup. "You look better," Billy said as Joe sat down with him to eat. His skin would always be pale, but at least it wasn't grey anymore.

Joe shot him the finger.

By the time Joe was good to go outside, their tour had changed. Rather than canceling their contract, the promoters made them headliners.

Billy woke up alone in the bed. He reached behind him, but the spot against the wall was cold. He lay back down again, not too worried; Joe had been on the phone all day the day before renegotiating their contract, and Billy doubted he would go back to shooting up.

But he didn't show up for lunch, nor dinner later in the day. Billy went down to his place, but the room had started to smell stale with abandonment. The fucker. By midnight, Billy was fuming, and by noon the next day, scared shitless. Joe had disappeared, completely, and Billy knew the fucker was dead in an alley somewhere with a fucking needle in his arm.

Asshole.

Pipefitter and John were thrilled over the new contract, but without Joe there was no Hard Core Logo so the whole thing didn't mean a fucking thing. Billy kept them away, not wanting to deal with their own concerns for the first time. He left the apartment only long enough to bring back enough bottles to survive.

By the second day, John wouldn't let himself be pushed away anymore. Billy accepted his presence in the apartment with resignation, but he was so far in the bottle it didn't really bother him. He partly understood that he would eventually have to do mundane things like file a missing person...thing...and in the worst case, actually identify the body, but he felt like he would have known if Joe was dead. Romantic and pathetic, but he was too fucked to be logical. John watched him with his cow-like eyes, and put him to bed when he passed out.

Two days later, John answered the door. Billy looked up from the couch, but the relief of seeing Joe standing in the hall, alive and straight only lasted a second before the need to throttle him took off.

"Fuck you, too," Billy said. He stood up, swaying only slightly, and slammed the door shut. The violent action almost made him fall down, and he crashed down on the bed. He tried to keep the contents of his stomach down, but because it was mostly liquid it was hard. The door opened and closed again, but Billy wouldn't open his eyes. Joe sat down next to him and dropped papers on his chest. Billy swept them off him, but Joe patiently picked them up and put them back.

"Where the hell did you go?" Billy asked, finally glancing through the sheets; Ten-Buck Fuck, oh, yeah, that would get a lot of air-play. He almost didn't ask the question; Joe answered to no one, but Joe just twisted strands of Billy's hair together. "They found Sally's body in a dumpster," Joe said.

Billy opened his eyes. He tried to think of the groupies, but couldn't remember a Sally. "The whore," Joe said.

Billy closed his eyes again. "That's fucked up," he said. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah," Joe said. He stood up to leave. Billy almost asked him to stay, but let him go.

Billy woke up to a guitar being hesitantly plucked in the living room. It was his guitar, so if anyone else besides Joe was touching it, Billy was going to kill them. He ignored the headache and his dry mouth as he pulled a pair of jeans on.

Joe looked up at him. Billy didn't say anything, he just collapsed on the couch and listened. Joe didn't seem to mind the audience, and he went back to humming the opening bars. His fingers plucked the right strings, and Billy closed his eyes to listen. Joe's voice was gravelly, soft, Billy didn't know he had it in him. He forgot about his headache and stood up, going in behind him. Joe didn't stop playing. He still wasn't sure about some of the words, and when he didn't know what went in there, he hummed so he didn't lose his place.

"I was ready to kill you," Billy said, softly.

Joe nodded, but didn't stop playing. "Glad you didn't."

"It's beautiful, you know, the song."

Joe nodded. He closed his eyes to get the notes right, and Billy slipped down to the floor.

He picked up his spare guitar, the acoustic one, and sat down beside him. Their knees almost touched in the small room. Billy didn't know the song, but it wasn't the first time he let Joe guide him.

All their life, Joe had been a part of him. More than that. They had been the same person. But this was different. Joe stopped playing and looked at him. "Fuck that. It is the same thing. Your bottles, my junk. It's the same shit. Yours is just socially acceptable."

"Bullshit."

"No, shit."

"I draw the line. You don't."

"The line. You don't know what a line is. You'll still do anything I say and you know it."

"That's different."

"How?"

"There are some places I won't go with you."

"Careful, Bill. I'd almost take that as a challenge."

Billy leaned back against the sofa. He wanted a beer, but it was only ten and way too early with Joe in the mood he was in. There was nothing else to say. Joe bobbed his head to the music in his head, but for the first time, Billy put both his hands over Joe's knees and couldn't hear it.


End file.
